Aeloria's concern radiated through the crisp night air as her fingers brushed softly through Yomi's short, ashen-blue hair. The delicate motion was a small solace, a gesture of empathy in a world devoid of kindness.
"Nothing is fair, is it?" she whispered, her voice a blend of weariness and warmth. Yomi's breathing slowed as he absorbed her words, each syllable sinking into the marrow of his bones.
"But don't let your pride be the death of you just yet," she added, eyes searching his face for a glimmer of understanding.
Yomi's eyes, a storm of defiance and exhaustion, met hers. His features were unmistakably Dra'kesh, with the sharp, noble lines that once spoke of freedom but now marked him as prey. Yet something in his gaze set him apart—a fire, untamed and perilous, that made Aeloria's chest tighten.
The energy coursing through her spell felt strange in his presence; while it mirrored the raw power wielded by the celestial beings capable of rending the heavens, hers was a whisper compared to their roar, a breeze caressing a maelstrom.
With a resigned sigh, Yomi loosened his grip on her hand. A small, fleeting smile graced her lips. "Good," she said softly, a flicker of hope in her voice.
"You're listening." But that hope was fragile, a mask she wore to conceal the despair etched into her soul.
Yomi saw it—the same haunted look he had banished from the eyes of his past Harem clan. Memories of laughter, trust, and shared burdens surfaced briefly, then scattered like leaves in a gale.
"Minor Healing," Aeloria murmured, the incantation wrapping around them with a subtle glow. The warmth seeped into Yomi's battered body, soothing the raw bruises and rekindling a spark of strength within him.
He felt his muscles unclench and the ache in his limbs diminish, a small mercy in the endless storm of his reality.
For a moment, Aeloria's breath caught as she gazed at him. In the soft glow of her spell, Yomi's face emerged from beneath the grime and blood, revealing striking features that could have belonged to a prince or a war god. His eyes, however, were not just sharp; they were honed, like blades forged from starlight and tempered in battle.
Before the silence could deepen, a voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "Aeloria! You're going to catch a cold if you stay out there too long," a woman's voice called sharply from inside the house, tinged with impatience.
Aeloria's eyes flicked to the doorway, then back to Yomi. The moment of shared vulnerability fractured, replaced by the steely resolve of someone who had learned to survive.
"Stay quiet," she whispered, casting one last look at the enigmatic prisoner before pulling herself to her feet. The light of her magic faded, leaving behind only the shadow of hope in the dark.
Yomi watched her go, the embers of rebellion glowing hotter within him. The world might have caged him, marked him as a slave, but it would never claim his spirit.
The woman who appeared at the entrance radiated an aura of both fierce confidence and grace. Her attire was unlike anything Yomi had seen before, a blend of regal elegance and battle-ready practicality. She wore an intricately designed white and gold outfit that hugged her figure like a second skin, shimmering slightly as it caught the soft light. The bodice was adorned with ornate gold filigree that framed her chest, forming patterns reminiscent of ancient, forgotten runes that whispered of power and protection.
Her armor flowed seamlessly into a layered skirt, each panel edged with gold that contrasted sharply with the pristine white fabric. Beneath, the skirt split to reveal fitted leggings that allowed for both flexibility and modesty, decorated with golden embellishments that matched the artistry of her upper garment. Her legs, protected by gleaming greaves, bore intricate designs that resembled wings or blades, signaling her swift, decisive nature.
The woman's hair was an eye-catching cascade of soft pink, flowing like silk and framing her angular face. It fell over her shoulders and down her back, swaying slightly as she moved. Her eyes, a striking gold that mirrored the metallic hues of her attire, were fierce and unwavering. They carried a glint of mischief paired with sharp intelligence, capable of assessing any situation in a heartbeat.
Armored gauntlets encased her forearms, glistening with sharp, angular details that suggested she was as much a warrior as she was a strategist. The edges of her attire carried subtle, ornamental accents in blue, which seemed to pulse with a latent, magical energy. The entirety of her outfit spoke of duality—a warrior who could easily step from the chaos of battle into the sanctity of a throne room without missing a beat.
"Are you done out there, Aeloria?" Her voice was cool, with a tone that brooked no argument yet maintained an undercurrent of curiosity as she took in the sight of Yomi, slighlty bruised but defiant on the ground.
Aeloria glanced at Yomi, then back at the pink-haired woman, her expression guarded. "I am, Lirien," she responded, her tone softening as if respect and caution threaded her voice.
Lirien narrowed her golden eyes at Yomi, recognition flickering in them for just a moment before she masked it with an unreadable expression.
Lirien's voice cut through the quiet like the crack of a whip. "How many times have I told you not to get attached to the slaves they bring in?" Her gaze pinned Aeloria, who sighed and let her shoulders sag in surrender."I know, but you're not so different," Aeloria murmured, trying to defend herself. The slight tremble in her voice didn't go unnoticed, but Lirien's expression remained unforgiving.
"There's a difference between showing them a sliver of respect and losing yourself in it," Lirien snapped, her eyes narrowing as she exhaled sharply. For a heartbeat, the tension hung thick between them. Aeloria's lips parted as if to protest, but she swallowed her words, conceding.
"I understand," she finally said, turning back to the bruised figure on the ground. "Help me get him inside. He's too weak to stand on his own."
Lirien's steely expression softened just enough to show a flicker of curiosity as she stepped closer to Yomi. His storm-gray eyes, sharp and unwavering like honed steel, met hers.
For an instant, an unexpected chill surged down her spine. She'd seen warriors whose mere presence made the air heavy with dread, their power casting long shadows of fear. But Yomi's gaze, bruised yet unyielding, held a spark—a potential that set her heart pounding, defying reason.
Dismissing the unsettling feeling, she took a steadying breath and looped her arm beneath his. Aeloria did the same, their combined strength lifting him to his feet. Yomi gritted his teeth, a low growl escaping as pain lanced through him, but he didn't falter. Together, they guided him inside, the soft glow of lamplight casting long, wavering shadows as the door closed behind them, sealing away the chill of the night and the unspoken tension that lingered in the air.